


the moon was just a sliver back then

by the_one_that_fell



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Drabble Collection, Ficlet Collection, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-05
Updated: 2017-09-16
Packaged: 2018-12-11 14:48:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 5,750
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11716578
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_one_that_fell/pseuds/the_one_that_fell
Summary: Assorted drabbles and short fics from Tumblr.





	1. au: bitty, the only good lax bro, decides to join a frat

**Author's Note:**

> My writing page on tumblr can be found[ here.](http://alphacrone.tumblr.com/anna-writes-things) All these chapters come from posts there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted [here.](http://alphacrone.tumblr.com/post/163794720797/bitty-the-only-good-lax-bro-decides-to-join-a)

“Dude, what the fuck is that smell?”

“What?” 

Ransom, Holster, and Shitty paused on the sidewalk just outside the Haus. Holster sniffed the air, nose raised like a bloodhound on the hunt. Shitty and Ransom stared at him, bemused. 

“The LAX frat,” Holster clarified after a moment, eyes narrowing. “It smells…like  _love.”_

 _“_ To reiterate my earlier statement,” Shitty said, arms crossed. “ _What?”_

 _“_ I think I smell it,” Ransom said turning his head towards the LAX house. “Is that…peach?” 

“Arsenic smells like peach, doesn’t it?” Holster asked, eyes bugging hysterically. 

“Nah, that’s almonds, brah,” Shitty said easily. “But if you’re worried…”

Holster was already across the street. Ransom sighed and looked at Shitty. “If they run out of chicken tenders before we get there, you’re buying me McDonald’s.”

“Sure, sure,” Shitty said, and they crossed the street to follow Holster in his mission. When they caught up to him, he was staring in a first-floor window of the house, mouth agape. Shitty and Ransom squeezed in next to him, eyes growing wide as they looked inside. 

The kitchen of the LAX frat – once even more disgusting than their own – was spotless. Beyonce played softly from someone’s iPhone and the smell of cooking peaches and sugar and butter wafted from the open window. 

In the middle of it all was a dude – a LAX bro, probably – washing bowls and pans and a cutting board, singing along to the music. He had a sweet face and wore a faded MCHS FOOTBALL t-shirt that stretched too tight over his shoulders and arms. 

“He doesn’t  _seem_  evil,” Ransom said, realizing too late he’d spoken aloud. The guy turned, startled, and dropped several, soapy measuring cups to the ground. 

“Oh!” He said. “Um. Hi?”

“Shits, you’re pre-law,” Holster said, tapping his chin. “Is kidnapping someone illegal if you’re saving them from the lacrosse team?”

“IDK, man,” Shitty said seriously. “That’s kind of a gray area.” 

The guy frowned and stooped to pick up the measuring cups. “Can you wait until this pie’s cooked before any…kidnapping happens? I cannot abide a burnt pie.”

“Can we have pie?” Ransom asked, eyes hopeful. The guy smiled. 

“Well, of course! Unless you’re on the hockey team,” he joked. “I’m not supposed to talk to hockey players.” 

“Uhh…” Ransom and Holster exchanged a look. 

“Do we look like hockey players?” Shitty asked with a snort. “We’re clearly…um…in a frat?”

“Yeah,” Ransom chimed in. “Delta…Epsilon…Faber.”

“DEF, yeah, that’s us,” Holster agreed. “You should, uh, consider us during Rush next week.” 

“Oh, cool,” the guy said, grinning. “I’m Eric, by the way. Or Bittle, that’s what my teammates call me.” 

“Nice, we’re uh…Adam, Justin, and…B,” Ransom said carefully. “The brothers of Delta Epsilon Faber. At your service.” 

Eric grinned at them, sunny and sweet, and waved a hand. “Well, come on in. There’ll be enough pie for everyone, and y’all can tell me all about DEF while we wait for it to finish.” 

The hockey boys exchanged a look, then quickly scrambled to the front door. Some men were led to poor decisions by thinking with their “downstairs brains;” they, however, made all of their mistakes while thinking with their stomachs. 


	2. jack's reaction, jossed within 24 hours

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted on Tumblr [here.](http://alphacrone.tumblr.com/post/163804575942/when-bitty-returned-to-the-haus-eyes-sore-from)

When Bitty returned to the Haus, eyes sore from crying and cheeks aching from smiling, he started at the sight of a familiar car parked outside. 

Wordlessly, he turned to Ransom, who smirked at him. “I’ll hold your plaque,” he said, far too innocently. 

With a small gasp, Bitty shoved the award into Ransom’s hands and darted towards the front door, barreling into the entryway like a man possessed.  He looked around wildly, until he noticed the shadow moving within the kitchen. 

When Bitty poked his head into the room, he did indeed find Jack Zimmermann leaning against the counter, checking his phone. The moment he saw Bitty, Jack straightened up and tucked his phone away, holding his arms outstretched. 

Holding back a childish squeal, Bitty launched himself at Jack, wrapping arms and legs around his boyfriend as tight as he could. Jack laughed and held him up, letting Bitty pepper kisses across the side of his face. 

“I got the C!” Bitty shouted, wiggling a little. “I got the C!” 

“Congrats, bud,” Jack said softly. “Knew you had it in you.”

“Unanimous, Jack,” Bitty said, pressing their foreheads together. “Just like you.” 

“Better than me,” Jack said automatically. “But, yeah. I’m so proud of you.” 

Bitty melted against him, so happy he thought his heart might jump straight ouf of his chest. “Thanks, baby. This is…this is so much. I- I gotta call Mama!” 

Jack laughed harder as Bitty tried to slip from his grasp, just holding him closer. “In a minute, Bits. Just…stop for a minute. Let it all soak in. Be proud of yourself, you’ve come so far.” 

Bitty sighed, half in exasperation, half in contentment, and let Jack set him down on the counter. “I am,” he whispered. “I…I just love everyone so much.”

“And they love you,” Jack said, resting his hands on Bitty’s hips. “More than you’ll ever realize.”

“Look at us,” Bitty said with a goofy grin. “The only two unanimously voted captains of the Samwell hockey team. We could be the start a dynasty.“

Jack barked with laughter, head tilted back, and he shook his head in amusement. “We sure could, Bits. We sure could.” 


	3. happy birthday, jacques laurent

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted on tumblr [here](http://alphacrone.tumblr.com/post/163757728512/happy-birthday-jacques-laurent) on Jack's actual birthday.

“I just _cannot_  decide what kind of cake to make Jack.”

Nursey raised an eyebrow, looking up from his study notes. “Not pie?” 

“Don’t be silly,” Bitty said, flipping through the ancient _Joys of Jell-o_ cookbook he’d been browsing in a last-ditch effort for inspiration. “Jack gets pie all the time. It’s his birthday. It _has_  to be cake.” 

“Alrighty,” Nursey said easily. “Throw your list at me.” 

Bitty sighed. “Butter Toffee-Pecan Layer Cake. Triple-Layer Chocolate-Caramel Cake. Buttermilk-Lime Mini Cakes with Vanilla-Mascarpone Buttercream-”

“Wow.”

“I _know_ ,” Bitty huffed. “None of them fit.” 

“Have you asked Jack what kind of cake he wants?” Nursey asked, tapping his pencil against his cheek. 

“Of course,” Bitty said. “What kind of boyfriend do you take me for? He just said, ‘Whatever you wants, Bits.’ Totally unhelpful.” 

Nursey chuckled. “Jack’s a simple dude. Just make a simple cake. He’ll love anything you do.” 

Bitty perked up, similing. "Derek Nurse, I do not say this enough, but you, sir, are a genius."

Nursey just shrugged, looking only just a bit smug when he got an extra slice of pie at dinner that night. 

* * *

 

“Blow out the candles and make a wish!” 

Jack stared at the cake curiously. “Chocolate?”

“Yep!” Bitty popped the “P” and leaned into Jack’s side. 

“Chocolate what?”

“Just chocolate.” 

Jack blinked. “No caramel? No sea salt? Cayenne? Coffee? Pomegranate?”

“Just chocolate, honey,” Bitty said sweetly. “And sprinkles, _of course_. Nothing fancy, just the good stuff for _my_  good stuff.” He pinched Jack’s ass lightly, a teasing grin on his face.  

“Oh,” Jack said, smiling down at the cake. “ _Yum_. It looks great. Thanks, Bits.”

Bitty leaned up to kiss Jack briefly. “Happy birthday, darlin’. Now blow out the candles before they melt. And make your wish!”

Jack took a deep breath and blew, but didn’t bother with the wish. Bittle was all he wanted or needed; no reason to get greedy. 


	4. a conversation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted [here](http://alphacrone.tumblr.com/post/163564434952/whats-it-like-bittle-asked-one-evening-as-they) on tumblr.

“What’s it like?” Bittle asked one evening as they settled on Jack’s couch with their nightcaps: red wine for Bittle, chamomile tea for Jack. “Being bi?”

Jack chuckled. “That’s a complicated questions, Bits.”

“Oh, c’mon,” Bittle said, taking a small sip of the petite syrah Jack’s parents had sent them after Jack announced their relationship. “You’ve heard all my bellyachin’ about growing up gay in Georgia-” He was cut off momentarily by the beginnings of Jack’s protests, but waved him off. “Fine, my  _completely legitimate struggles_. Better?”

Jack grinned and nodded. Bittle rolled his eyes fondly.

“But you rarely talk about your experiences. When did you know you weren’t straight? How did you realize you liked girls  _and_  boys? Was it harder or easier or just  _different_ being bi in Juniors?”

“You’ve thought about this a lot,” Jack said mildly, blowing at the steam rising from his mug.

“Of course I have,” Bittle said with an exasperated look. “I think about  _you_  a lot.”

Jack wasn’t sure why this took him aback, but it made something warm and gooey bloom in his chest and drip down between his ribs. He sighed, driven by the open, curious,  _loving_  look in Bittle’s eyes, and opened a door he’d kept closed for many years.

“I grew up surrounded by my dad’s teammates – these big, strong men who were amazing at the sport I loved. I probably had crushes on every single one I ever met at some point. Not that I really knew that was what it was,” he added with a shrug. “But some were handsome, some were rugged, and they all loved hockey. It was like…I wanted to be them, yeah, but I also wanted to  _love_ them.”

Bittle cooed, setting down his wine to bring his hands to his cheeks. “Of course your childhood crushes would all be on professional hockey players. Oh,  _Jack_ …”

“Until I met Kenny,” Jack continued softly. “I didn’t understand that my feelings were…real. I still liked girls, wanted to kiss girls and hold their hands and…and see them naked, so all these thoughts and dreams I was having about boys- I thought it was some weird side effect of puberty. And I thought it made me a pervert, to think about guys like that.” He paused and cast Bittle a wry glance. “I bet you felt like that, too, eh?”

Bittle nodded, huffing out a bitter laugh. “Still do, sometimes.”

The thought made Jack want to cry, so he wrapped an arm around Bittle’s shoulders and pulled him close. Bittle sighed and buried his face in Jack’s abdomen.

“I don’t know how it would’ve changed things, being gay instead of bi,” Jack said after a moment. “It would’ve been harder, in some regards; no one really suspected me because I could talk about girls without faking it, could be the things a straight guy is supposed to be. But I think I would’ve stopped being confused sooner, if I’d only been into guys, maybe. It still confuses me, sometimes. It feels like I should have to choose.”

Bittle opened his mouth, beginning to say something supportive, but Jack shook his head.

“I know, I know. But it’s how it feels. I don’t want to choose,” he added simply, taking a sip of his tea. “Except…well, except choosing  _you_. I’d choose you over anyone and anything.”

“Jack,” Bittle said, stretching up to kiss him gently. “I’d choose you, too.”

Jack smiled and set down his mug, wrapping both arms around Bittle. “I don’t like to dwell on the past,” he said, ignoring Bittle’s incredulous look. “I didn’t say I  _don’t_. But I don’t  _like_  to. I don’t like to think about the way I felt back then, just like I’m sure you don’t like to think about being locked in the storage closet or pushed around by your dad’s players.”

“You got me there,” Bittle said drily.

“The past is the past,” Jack said. “Things weren’t always great for us in the past. But I- being with you…it makes me feel, for the first time in years, like the future is going to be great, no matter what happens.”

Bittle pressed his lips together tightly and nuzzled into the crook of Jack’s neck, sighing deeply as they melted together, leaning back against the couch cushions.

“I’ve never been proud of my sexuality, really,” Jack whispered. “I’m not ashamed anymore, but I just don’t take much pride it in. But because of it, I’ve gotten to be with you, and I wouldn’t trade that for anything.”

“You’re just trying to make me cry, now,” Bittle said into his skin. “Are all bisexuals as sappy as you, Mr. Zimmermann?” He teased, pecking Jack’s nose.

“Yeah, it’s in our handbook,” Jack deadpanned. “‘When you find a wonderful, kind man to date, it is required by law to be as sappy as possible, mostly just to make him cry.’ Just doing my duty for the community.”

“Mhmm,” Bittle hummed. “Chirp chirp chirp. You’re lucky you’re cute.”

“I am,” Jack said, pressing a kiss to Bittle’s forehead. “The luckiest.”


	5. we are the reckless, we are the wild youth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted [here on tumblr.](http://alphacrone.tumblr.com/post/164064818467/we-are-the-reckless-we-are-the-wild-youth)

Jack tried to remind himself that couldn’t make it to playoffs if he murdered half his line.

He’d been asleep when the call came. “Brah,” Shitty had slurred, too loud and staticky in Jack’s ear. “Jack, we need you to bring us clothes.”

“Why?” Jack had asked. If this was another case of Shitty stripping down and forgetting where he’d put his pants, then Jack was hanging up and letting him deal with it alone. “Who’s we?”

“The  _boys_ ,” Shitty said, as if that meant something. “You  _know_ , like me and Rans and Holtzy and Bits.”

It was the mention of Bittle that made Jack sit up straight. “Why do you  _all_  need clothes?”

“Because we went skinny dipping,” Shitty said, as if that were obvious. “And the Chads stole our clothes while we were in the water.”

“There’s only three Chads on the lacrosse team,” Jack said, pulling himself from his nice, warm bed.

“Three too many, dude,” Shitty said. “So, like, I’m just sittin’ on the quad, buck-ass naked, and the others are developing hypothermia in the water, so if you could get that beautiful ass in gear…”

Which is how Jack now found himself trudging across campus, a duffle bag full of his own clothes in tow. He expected this kind of behavior from Shitty, and knew Ransom and Holster would do anything stupid at least once, but Bittle–Bittle, who couldn’t handle winter while wrapped up in six different layers–should have known better.

When he got to the Pond, Jack was, indeed, greeted by the sight of a stark naked Shitty lounging in the grass as if it weren’t 7 degrees outside. (Jack may have been born in Pittsburgh, but you could pry the metric system from his cold, dead, incredibly Canadian hands.)

“Hey, Jackie-O,” he called, waving Jack over. “Thanks for coming, man.”

“I was asleep,” Jack grunted, tossing the duffle bag to the ground.

“Like you need the beautyrest,” Shitty quipped, flashing a grin up at Jack. “A hot piece of ass like you…and with a heart of gold! Pure, Canadian gold, fresh from the gold farms of Montreal.”

Jack bit back a smile. This was typical for Shitty when he was high–bizarre, yet endearing, compliments.

“Put some pants on, Shits,” Jack said instead. Shitty pretended not to hear him.

“Thank  _fuck_  you’re here,” Holster grunted, shuffling up to Jack. He, too, was naked, drenched in pond water and shivering. He looked like a golden lab emerging from the water, and shook his hair dry to complete the image.

“Move,” Ransom shoved Holster out of the way to grab a pair of pants. “There’s a whole bunch of Tri-Delts on the other side laughing at us.”

“C-c-can’t have th-that,” Bittle said, his dry tone overwhelmed by the chattering of his teeth.

Jack averted his gaze, feeling his cheeks heating up a bit. He was used to seeing the guys all naked; most of them paraded around the dressing room in the nude until someone yelled at them to get dressed. But Bittle was modest, rarely staying naked for more than a couple seconds when he could help it, and, well…Jack had always seen him in a slightly different light than his other teammates. He found himself  _wanting_  to see Bittle without his shirt, when he was usually the one demanding the boys–namely Shitty–put clothes on.

By the time he looked up again, Bittle was wearing clothes, but somehow it felt even more indecent. Bittle was  _swimming_  in Jack’s shirt, and had rolled up the sweatpants several times to keep from tripping. He was still wet, hair dripping water in small rivulets down his face, catching on his eyelashes, his nose, his lips-

Jack bit the inside of his cheek to keep from screaming in frustration. Every muscle in his body tensed, desperate to hoist Bittle over his shoulder and take him somewhere private.  _Bittle’s a friend,_ Jack chanted in his head.  _A friend and a teammate._

“Jack?”

Bittle was looking up at him, concern written all over his face. His hand was outstretched, as if he wanted to touch Jack’s arm but was holding himself back.

“You okay?” Bittle asked, biting his bottom lip in worry.

Jack thought he might actually explode. Instead of answering, he nodded his head in short jerks.

This seemed to only distress Bittle more. “Thank you so much for bringing these clothes,” Bittle said earnestly. “I know Shitty doesn’t have much problem with wandering around naked, but-”

“It’s no problem,” Jack said as genuinely as he could manage. “It’s not your fault your clothes got stolen.”

“It  _is_  though,” Bittle said, fiddling with the hem of his–Jack’s–shirt. “Skinny dipping was stupid, but- I just- I wanted to do something stupid, y’know? I didn’t really have a lot of friends in high school, so I didn’t get to do this kinda thing – parties and drinking and TP-ing house and skinny dipping where anyone could see…”

“Bittle,” Jack said, heart aching a little as Bittle kept rambling. “I get it.”

The look he received was blinding in its hope and curiosity. “You do?”

“Yeah,” Jack said with a shrug. “C’mon, you look like you’re going to freeze to death. Let’s go home.”

“Yeah,” Bittle murmured, bumping his arm against Jack’s. “Home.”


	6. Wolfstar = BittyShitty?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No explicit Bitty/Shitty, but hinted at. Marauders AU
> 
> Originally posted on tumblr [ here](http://alphacrone.tumblr.com/post/164293856652/alphacrone-i-feel-like-im-going-bananas-or)

“I’m not saying he didn’t deserve it,” Bitty sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “But I do think it wasn’t necessary for you to hex Chad’s tongue into growing three times its usual size.”

Shitty looked up from where he’d dramatically sprawled across the common room loveseat, cataloguing every twitch of Bitty’s mouth, every glance down at his scarred hands. He’d fallen in love with those hands their first year at Hogwarts, when he’d snuck into the kitchens for a snack and found Bittle  _baking_  alongside a few house elves. Shitty had watched those hands roll and knead dough for twenty minutes before making his presence known, and his heart made funny fluttery movements when he remembered how Bitty had learned every elf’s name and asked who cooked for  _them_.

(Never once had Shitty, at age 11, asked the myriad of Knight family house elves what they ate or when they ate or who among them cooked their meals. That Christmas, he went home and presented the elves a large tub of Bittle’s best pudding and new blankets for their sad quarters. That was part of Bittle’s charm–he made everyone around him  _better_. He made a cold world kind.)

“Chad was talking shit about werewolves again,” Shitty said simply. “I think it  _was_ necessary.”

Bittle smoothed down the front of his jumper, fingers catching on the moth-eaten holes and little tears in the wool. “You know, with how angry you get about these things, people are going to start suspecting you.”

The absurdity of Bitty’s worry made Shitty laugh. “Wouldn’t that be great?” He asked, shoving his foot at Bitty’s face to eke out a smile. “The great Knight heir, the purest pureblood to ever purebleed, is secretly a  _werewolf_? Next I could marry a muggle and befriend the centaurs in the forest. I’d be disowned faster than Ransom and Holster eat breakfast after practice.”

This made Bitty snort with laughter, and Shitty felt his chest unclenched as the anxiety in Bitty’s face dissipated. “Please,” Bitty said after his chuckles died down. “Please, just, promise not to get expelled on my behalf.  _Please_.”

“Aw, Bits, you care,” Shitty teased, stretching out his whole body like a cat in a sunbeam, throwing his legs across Bitty’s lap.

Bitty rolled his eyes but returned to his essay with a small smile, thumb rubbing small, absent circles into the bone of Shitty’s ankle. Like the mighty Gryffindor lion he was, Shitty let out a noise akin to a purr and closed his eyes in contentment. Sure, he was doomed to scrub cauldrons for the next two weeks because of that one, little hex, but if it made Bitty feel a little safer in this world, then it was worth every second of that detention.


	7. maraduers au pt 2, featuring jack as lily?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> still sort of bitty/shitty, but could be read as friendship. jealous jack. 
> 
> originally posted [here](http://alphacrone.tumblr.com/post/164302655832/another-marauder-au-thing-jack-lily)

Jack hated being in Gryffindor sometimes.

That was a lie; he loved his house. He loved the stillness in the red and gold of the common room at dawn, loved the crowd clad in those same colors cheering for his team on the pitch. Jack loved Lardo, his closest (and possibly only) friend in the tower. He loved that nobody, with the exception of a few muggle-born students, knew anything about his parents. Most days, he even loved his magic.

But Jack hated his roommates. The Marauders, they called themselves, always parading around and barely getting themselves out of trouble. Everyone else seemed to love their pranks, even the Slytherins at times, but not Jack.

(Perhaps he was biased; they picked fights with Parse more than anyone. Parse had been Jack’s first friend in this world, the first person to tell him he wasn’t a freak. And yeah, he sometimes deserved having his pumpkin juice spiked with hair-coloring potions or for all his pants to dance themselves around the Great Hall during breakfast, but it all felt like too much most days. At least Parse had never called Jack a mudblood. That was better than most of the Marauders’ targets could say.)

This was why Jack couldn’t help but feel confused when he saw Knight – Jack refused to call him  _Shitty_ – with his head in Bittle’s lap. That in itself wasn’t confusing, however; it was the jealousy Jack felt that was so befuddling.

“What are they doing now?” Lardo asked, not bothering to look up from her work. “The moron-ers?”

“Nothing,” Jack said too quickly. Lardo looked up, interest piqued.

“Oh,” she said, noticing Bittle run a hand through Knight’s long, ridiculous hair. “When did that happen?”

“What happened?” Jack wished the weird, angry bubbles of jealousy in his chest would just pop and go away. “You don’t think-?”

Lardo shrugged. “It kind of makes sense. But Knight’s always like that. It might not be anything.”

Jack didn’t mention that Knight was really only like that with Adam and Justin, the other boys in his crew. Bittle was the odd duck in their group–the shortest by several inches, thin and covered in scars that no one ever had an explanation for. He didn’t wrestle like the other boys, didn’t shout or talk back to professors or even swear when he forgot the password to the tower. Jack couldn’t imagine Bittle being affectionate with anyone, so this….this was odd.

“Things are going to get awkward in the dorm, huh?” Lardo laughed, nudging Jack’s arm. “Better work on your muffliato.”

Jack blanched at the thought of the things he might overhear, with his bed right next to Bittle’s. Before this development, Bittle had acted as a buffer between Jack and the explosions that came from Ransom and Holster’s corner of the room. Now, though…

“I’m going out,” Jack said, patting the pockets of his robes to ensure he had the keys to the broom shed. He’d borrow a Cleansweep and fly these thoughts right out of his head and never, ever unlock the door that held the answer of why he was feeling this way.

“Is that code for masturbation?” Lardo asked innocently, face schooled in a neutral expression. 

Jack rolled his eyes and ruffled her hair as he stood. “Finish your work,” he said, using his best Quidditch captain voice.

“Not on your team,” she said with a quirked eyebrow. “You can’t tell me what to do.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Jack said drily. He cast one last look at Bittle and Knight – Knight was now telling some story that involved waving his hands around, dangerously close to Bittle’s scarred, kind face –  and headed out the portrait hole, pushing all thoughts of his annoying roommates from his head.


	8. bittle sibling au

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a part of my [ Bittle Siblings AU.](http://alphacrone.tumblr.com/tagged/Bittle-sibling-au) (Might make a bit more sense if you're familiar with his seven brothers and sisters.)
> 
> originally posted on [tumblr.](http://alphacrone.tumblr.com/post/163768707892/mama-says-youve-been-getting-a-hard-time-at)

“Mama says you’ve been getting a hard time at school,” Eric said, sitting on the foot of Chance’s bed. Chance’s grip tightened on his book. 

“Some boys just like pushing me around,” Chance admitted. “S’not a big deal. Coach says it’ll make me tougher.” 

Eric snorted and leaned back on his elbows. “Yeah, that’s what he told me, too. Until those boys locked me in the utility closet overnight.” 

“What?” Chance looked up at his big brother. Eric was so  _nice_  and  _cool_ , playing D1 hockey and living in a house with all his closest friends. It was the kind of thing Chance would never have. “Why would they-?”

“‘Cause I was gay,” Eric said with a shrug. “It’s why they bullied the hell outta me for years.”

“Oh.” Chance hadn’t ever realized Eric had been bullied, too. The thought was both devastating and weirdly comforting. “And are you still?” 

Eric’s lips twitched in a half-smile. “Still what?”

“Gay?” Chance whispered, looking down at his knees. 

Eric laughed. “Gayer now than I ever was before. Happier, too.” 

“Good,” Chance said quickly. “Uh, I mean, good that you’re happy.” 

“You’re not alone, champ,” Eric said, and Chance laughed at the use of his old nickname. “You can always talk to me when things get too rough. We can work on this bullying thing, though I know there ain’t a lot of good options. Me and you – Frankie, too – we’ll get you through this.” 

“Thanks, Dicky,” Chance said, laughing as Eric scooted up to wrap an arm around his shoulders. 

“Those boys are assholes,” Eric said simply. “And you’ve got a big ol’ family that loves you a lot. Don’t forget that.” 

“Love you too,” Chance murmured, and buried his face into his brother’s neck, for just a moment.


	9. not every closet story has a sad ending - or, zimbits huddling for warmth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted on tumblr [ here.](http://alphacrone.tumblr.com/post/164315770467/not-every-closet-story-has-a-sad-ending-or)

In retrospect, this was probably Shitty’s fault.

Jack thought it was odd, sending Bittle on a jock run as a sophomore. Ransom and Holster had moved onto hazing the new frogs as soon as they’d moved onto campus, but Bitty would always be Shitty’s favorite underclassman, Jack supposed. Still, he felt uneasy about Bittle going off on these silly errands by himself; what if he thought they were targeting him?

So Jack volunteered to join Bittle on this “totally necessary jockstrap quest, brah.” If Shitty thought anything of Jack knowingly subjecting himself to hazing, he said nothing, waving cheerfully as they left the Haus.

But now here they were, locked in the Faber supply closet, one dead phone and no heat.

“I swear it was half charged when we left,” Bittle huffed, wrapping his arms around himself anxiously. “I don’t understand…”

“Maybe if you didn’t tweet so much,” Jack said. He’d meant it as a chirp, but they’d been stuck in this closet for an hour and he was tired and maybe feeling a little harsh towards Bittle.

“At least I  _have_ my phone,” Bittle muttered, sliding down to sit with his knees pulled to his chest. He was shaking, and Jack had to admit it had gotten colder as the night grew deeper. It really was getting late.

Jack had once played an intense game of frisbee in the snow in nothing more than jeans and a t-shirt. It had been dumb and he’d come away from it with a mild cold, but Jack had been so used to the -25°chill of winter that the snows of early spring had felt almost warm to him. Even now, he more acknowledged the cold than actually felt it. But Bittle- Bittle lived for summers, for sun and humidity and catnaps in the warmth. Even now, wrapped in a thick cardigan and his favorite, brown peacoat, Bittle shivered, his body yearning for the heat of home.

“Shitty’ll come looking for us eventually,” Jack said, sliding down next to Bitty and holding out his arm as an olive branch. Bittle eyed him for a moment, a bit suspicious, then scooted closer and let Jack pulled him to his side.

With a quiet huff of a sigh, Bittle melted against Jack’s chest, the chill of his nose poking through the fabric of Jack’s shirt. Without thinking, Jack unzipped his Jacket and pulled Bittle even closer, letting him soak up all of the warmth he knew he radiated.

(“Fucking hell, Zimms,” Kenny had once said, as the two of them sat side-by-side in a chilly room, watching tape. “You’re like a fucking space heater. Shit, you’re  _warm._ ”

Jack tried not to think of that moment now. Not when it was tinged with bitterness and anger, and Bittle was so close and smelled so nice.)

A year ago, Jack never would’ve expected to spend an evening with Bittle tucked against him like this, arms tentatively wrapping around Jack’s middle like vines reaching out for sunlight. Even a few months ago, Jack would not have guessed the feelings that were welling in his throat as the crown of Bittle’s head tucked up under his chin, the odd mixture of intense warmth and the scent of dandruff and sweat and shampoo radiating upwards. Though small in Jack’s arms, Bittle was a coiled spring of power and energy, almost trembling with it even as he relaxed against Jack. It made Jack want to unwind him bit by bit, release that pent up energy into the universe until the two of them were nothing more than heat mingling in the same space.

This revelation, though unnerving, did not push Jack into some sort of confession, nor did it compel him to move away. Instead, he let himself close him eyes and loosen his muscles, until all he felt was the frenetic existence of Bittle’s body and the pull of gravity.

“Thank you,” Bittle murmured, voice thick and slow with sleep. “M’sorry I got us locked in here.”

“You didn’t,” Jack said softly. “Go to sleep. I’ll wake you when Shitty comes.”

Bittle smiled up at him, eyes half-closed and soft, and fell back against Jack against. It wasn’t until he was asleep that he finally seemed to relax, body and mind stilling in the quiet of rest.

Jack pressed a soft, chaste kiss to Bittle’s head, and let himself drift off as well. It would be another hour before Shitty and Lardo would come by and unlock the storage closet, sighing in relief to find their friends in one piece. (And exchanging curious, knowing looks in the seconds before the boys would stir, still wrapped in each other’s arms.)


	10. brave in the dark

When the lights went out at Samwell, Jack let out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding.

The night was freezing but he climbed out onto the roof anyway, desperate to get away from the hysterics of his roommates and out into the starlight, open and terrifyingly free. Anything could happen in the pure dark of night; anything could happen when you were a small speck in the universe.

Though he only wore sweats and a half-zipped hoodie, Jack didn’t mind the chill. It made him feel alive in a way nothing else did, just him and his body screaming heat into atmosphere, trying desperately to find balance where none would be had.

“Goodness,” someone said to his left. “It’s too cold to be out here tonight.”

Bittle shivered as he clambered out next to Jack, not dressed any more warmly, though he at least wore socks. Jack liked when Bittle wore socks to bed; there was something domestic and soft about the image of Bittle padding around in his pajamas and socks as he brushed his teeth and washed his face and murmured goodnight through the crack of Jack’s bedroom door-

“Jack?” Bittle was looking at his concernedly, hand outstretched as if he were going to touch Jack but thought better of it. Jack wanted to close that distance between them, to let Bittle touch him anywhere he wanted, to touch Bittle everywhere at once as he wrapped their bodies together. It wasn’t- it wasn’t sexual, what Jack wanted so desperately. Maybe he wanted that too, sure, but this craving, this primal need that the cold leached to the surface, it was something even more basic, even more desperate. Jack longed to tear himself open and pull Bittle in between his ribs, bring them together so close there was nothing between them, not even air, not even atoms-

“-worrying me. Are you okay?”

Jack blinked a few times, eyes failing to focus on Bittle’s concerned face in the dark. Where his eyes could not see, Jack’s other senses took over. He felt the warmth of Bittle’s breath against his damp lips. He smelled the conditioner in Bittle’s damp hair, heard the hitch of Bittle’s breath as he drew closer. The dark made Jack bold, made him hungry and restless and free as a feral beast.

Their lips touched softly at first, then grew frenzied in their movement. Jack scraped his teeth against Bittle’s bottom lip, nipped their way up his jaw and behind his ear. Jack wanted to taste everything: the sweat in Bittle’s hair, the salt of his skin, the blood pricked to the surface by eager canines and incisors.

“Jack,” Bittle whispered, hand coming up to cup Jack’s cheek. “I…the whole grid’s down. We won’t get power back for hours, they say.”

“Good,” Jack murmured, pressing their foreheads together so hard it almost hurt. Bittle didn’t not flinch away; if anything, he leaned into the touch, free hand coming up to grip tightly at Jack’s bicep. Jack hoped it bruised. “I like being here in the dark. I like…I want…you, in the dark.”

“Only in the dark?” Bittle asked quietly, finger trailing down Jack’s neck into the open neckline of his hoodie. His nail scraped the skin of Jack’s chest, right over his heart.

“No,” Jack admitted. “But I can be brave in the dark.”

Jack felt rather than saw Bittle smile, their mouths a hair’s breadth away. “Well,” he said, voice growing thick and a little husky, the timbre of it raking nails down Jack’s spine. He pulled Bittle flush against him and relished the small convulsion of surprise and pleasure of  the smaller body against his. “Let’s be brave, then.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted on [tumblr.](http://alphacrone.tumblr.com/post/165389057767/brave-in-the-dark-zimbits-au)

**Author's Note:**

> [alphacrone](http://alphacrone.tumblr.com/) on tumblr. 
> 
> If you think my writing's swell, please check out my original project, [The Discourt Knife.](http://thediscourtknife.tumblr.com/) Chapter 9 was posted recently, and I'm very excited about it. Check it out!


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